Isobel
by December
Summary: Because of one car accident, I learned too much. Because I learned too much, I now face what I do. But I will never regret meeting her.
1. Setting the Stage: Well and Right

Isobel  
  
Setting the stage: Well and Right  
  
The darkness cloaked the alley, but I knew they were out there. I heard  
  
each of them as their feet hit the ground. Uranus, Neptune, Pluto, Saturn,  
  
Moon, Venus, Mars, Mercury...and Jupiter. I was even aware of the man   
  
watching from above in the shadows, due to his cape flapping quietly in  
  
the breeze. It had begun.  
  
This would be the last time I would ever meet her. The fact that it was  
  
so different from how we first met was fitting in a way. After all, the  
  
day does begin with light and end with darkness.  
  
I still remember how I first met her...  
  
I was in my nation's capital with two friends who were in school with me.  
  
Because the semester was "deep fryin' our brains," as Amelia would say, my  
  
friends, Amelia Allen and Megan Maria Sims, and I caught the train up to   
  
D.C. for a break. The original plan was to hang out in Union Station all  
  
day, but Meggie insisted that we walk to a nearby museum. That was the   
  
only reason we were outside at all.  
  
Now the District is always full of people, especially on a Friday, as it  
  
is both weekday and weekend at the same time. Yet, on this particular   
  
Friday, the District was more crowded that usual, due to the international  
  
cooking conference that was in town. Chefs and cooks from all over the   
  
world, including countries like France, Italy, Switerland, India, and  
  
even Japan were in attendance, over three thousand people in all. These   
  
great cooks had spent the week cooking and networking, according to the  
  
Food Network anyway. According to the news, the conference also had huge  
  
organizational problems, leading to extra chaos for the District.  
  
That Friday, it got worse.  
  
Meggie, Amelia, and I had just stepped out of Union Staion when we heard  
  
it. It was an awful mix of sounds that no one wants to hear: a car horn,  
  
the squeal of brakes, a scream, a thud...silence.  
  
At first I just clutched my purse even tighter...but something called me  
  
to do something that even I thought was a little crazy.  
  
"Hold this," I said to Meggie as I pushed my purse into her arms and took   
  
off toward the area where the sounds came from.  
  
"What?! Madre Dios! Parry, where are you going?"  
  
I didn't turn around to answer Meggie, I just kept going. I heard Meggie  
  
and Amelia running after me, and Amelia saying, "That proves it. She's  
  
snapped. The white girl has lost her damn mind. Slow down, Parry! She's  
  
gonna get us all killed."  
  
Finally, I reached the scene...and pushed through the rapidly growing   
  
crowd to see what had caused the scream. A woman sat in her car, mumbling  
  
something to herself over and over again, but I didn't pay much attention  
  
to that. Mental breakdowns happen everyday. What I did pay attention to  
  
was the probable reason for the driver's current state...which lay about   
  
three feet in front of the car.  
  
The young woman was clearly unconscious and had apparently been hit by   
  
the car. When she was hit, her chef hat went flying. At least, that  
  
is what I assumed happened, as her hat was now three lanes over from where  
  
her body was.  
  
She was tall, wearing a stereotypical chef's outfit, but she appeared to   
  
be carrying no identifying...well, anything. No name tag, no purse in   
  
sight, nothing. She had masses of brown hair pulled back in a ponytail,  
  
which allowed me to see that her head was bleeding at least a little.  
  
She also wore small rose earrings. Of course, the scariest thing was  
  
that she wasn't moving.  
  
Now, I had no medical training whatsoever, but I ran over the young  
  
woman and attempted to find a pulse. Looking back now, it is a little  
  
sad and telling that no one else had moved to help her before I did.  
  
I understand why, however. We all have a fear of being sued, so we stay  
  
out of other people's lives. Gotta love American values.  
  
As I was bending over the girl, she stirred. "Whoa, sweetie," I warned,  
  
"Don't move. The ambulance is on its way, I'm sure." As if to prove  
  
my point, sirens could be heard in the distance. "We'll get you help,  
  
all right?"  
  
The woman on the ground moaned and slowly opened her eyes. Then she tried  
  
to speak, "Iso..bella...nani...auto...matte-"  
  
"Shh," I said. "Save your strength."  
  
Then I heard a voice say, "Oh my God," behind me. Meggie and Amelia had   
  
finally caught up with me.   
  
"What happened here?" Meggie asked.  
  
"Oh crap, she's bleeding. Has someone called 911?" Amelia added in her  
  
rather bossy way.  
  
By that time, the police and EMTs had arrived. A flurry of questions were  
  
asked, answered and shrugged at, as they stablized the victim for transport  
  
to the hospital. As no one knew who she was, I was able to lobby to go  
  
to the hospital with her. So Meggie, Amelia and I sat in a hospital   
  
waiting room for news about "the pedestrican struck by a car just outside  
  
of Union Station this afternoon." At least, that is how the news referred  
  
to her. The rest of us didn't know what to call her, because she was  
  
not conscious and carried nothing that bore her name.  
  
It was about to get even more complicated than that.   
  
After sitting in the waiting room, tense and concerned, for over an hour  
  
the doctor finally came out to us.  
  
"You three came in with the female patient from the Union Station  
  
accident?"  
  
"Yes, I'm Parria Austin-Franklin. These are my friends Amelia and Megan. How   
  
is she?"  
  
"She's awake now. The next 48 hours are crucial, however." The doctor replied,  
  
"Is she a friend of yours?"  
  
"No, we don't know her at all. We were just the first people there at the   
  
scene. The first there who did anything, at least. She didn't have a   
  
purse or anything that I saw."  
  
The doctor ran a hand through his hair and sighed, "I had hoped that   
  
one of you knew her or knew something about her. She awakened very   
  
disoriented, and we think that the accident may have affected her   
  
communication ability. At the very least, we did want a name. She   
  
doesn't seem to trust us at the moment and won't speak to us."  
  
"Well, she spoke to me before the ambulance got to her," I said, "Maybe I can talk  
  
to her."  
  
"Fine," the doctor agreed in a defeated voice, "But only you. She one  
  
step from needing to be in ICU. We can't have too many people moving  
  
in and out of her room. It will halt her recovery."  
  
So, while Amelia began to object to the doctor's "one person" rule, I was   
  
shown back to the hospital room. The young female now laid in a bed, hooked  
  
to more machines than I have ever seen in one room. She was clearly awake,  
  
but she looked frightened...and in pain.  
  
"Hey," I practically whispered as I gently sat down on the bed. "You got   
  
a little banged up there. Sorry about that. The District is notorious for  
  
attracting bad drivers. I was never sure of why."  
  
She blinked at me. I could see recognition in her eyes, but I also saw   
  
confusion as well. She shook her head slightly and continued to look puzzled.  
  
"Okay, obviously you remember me. That's a good sign. But are still not  
  
talking. I wonder if you suffered brain damage from the accident."  
  
A snort was heard from the doorway. "That's not it," a familar voice stated.  
  
I quickly turned to face the doorway, "Amelia? How did you get back here? I thought   
  
the doctor mandated that only one of us be here at a time."  
  
"He did, but you know me and authority. I ignore it if I think I can do   
  
better."  
  
I looked at my friend who was still lounging in the doorway. "But how did you   
  
get back here? I'm pretty sure that a black woman wandering aimlessly around  
  
the halls would have been stopped by someone."  
  
My friend smiled, "Not when she has this wonderful tool she liberated from a   
  
nearby cart," Amelia said as she pulled the broom out from behind her back.   
  
"Sometimes American stereotypes can actually work in our favor," she   
  
observed as she walked into the room. "But that's not what we were talking  
  
about."  
  
I nodded. "So, what's not it?" I asked, returning us to her original statement.  
  
"Brain damage. It is not the reason our guest here can't speak. She can't speak  
  
because she doesn't understand us."  
  
"And that's not brain damage, why?"  
  
"Because she can't understand us because she doesn't speak or understand English."  
  
"What do you mean she doesn't understand English? Why would she come here if she  
  
didn't speak English?"  
  
"Madre Dios," my other friend said as she walked in the door, "Sálveme de Americanos estúpidos"   
  
I threw Megan a nasty look. Although I didn't know any Spanish, I was pretty sure  
  
I knew what she meant. "What makes my question stupid?"  
  
"Hubris. You assume that the whole world must know your language, especially   
  
when they are in your country. Yet you have been to Rome without knowing Italian,  
  
France without knowing French, and Switzerland without knowing one of their four  
  
national languages! So, she doesn't know English. She made not have had to."  
  
"Okay, okay. Point taken. So, she doesn't speak English. So now what do we do?"  
  
"Well," Amelia said from the chair she was sitting in, "she seemed to be a little less  
  
confused when Megan was speaking. Maybe she knows a romance language. One that isn't   
  
Spanish."  
  
"And that helps us how?"  
  
"Well, I happen to know some French and Italian. I can try those."  
  
"Fire away, Amelia."  
  
So Amelia came to stand next to the bed and spoke. First in French and then in Italian.  
  
She seemed to react to Italian, but our patient still didn't answer.  
  
"Wait, I'm confused. She obviously knew some Italian, but she didn't respond.  
  
Is brain damage still an option then?"  
  
"No," Megan said definitely. "My guess is that Italian was a second language, and a new one at that."  
  
I turn to my friend and said sarcastically, "Oh wise Queen of all things ESL, how do you know that?"  
  
After I finished speaking, Amelia reached over and hit me upside the head.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
"Idiot," she mubbled under her breath.  
  
"I know," Megan replied after sending me a dirty look, "because I've had that look  
  
of concentration when I was first learning English. When you first learn a language,  
  
you translate it into your native language, formulate a response, and translate it back  
  
into your second language. It is only after speaking for a long time that you begin to  
  
think in your second language. If a language is new and you were recently plowed down  
  
by a car, you make recognize the sound of the language but have no idea to respond."  
  
I sighed. "Okay, so Italian is her second language, that she can't speak due to the  
  
injury. So, without knowing her first language, we still can't help!"  
  
"Ah, but we can," Amelia insisted. "You see, because I try to be a practical  
  
person, I know the words for love and bathroom in 40 different languages. I can   
  
go through all 40 and see which ones she responds to."  
  
"Um, Mellie, that's great and all, but how is saying that you love someone in forty  
  
different ways going to show us that she can communicate?"  
  
Amelia nodded. "You're right. Saying love 40 different times won't help. But,"  
  
she continued as she held up the bed pan that had been left in the room, "saying   
  
'bathroom' forty times just might help."  
  
We agreed to try Amelia's idea, and, after Amelia and I had switched places,  
  
she began. Pointing to the bedpan she held in her hand, she said 'bathroom'  
  
in one language. Meggie and I looked at the young woman's face after every   
  
attempt, looking for any reaction besides confusion. Thirty-two languages in   
  
I was about to give up. Then Amelia utter a word that made the injured woman   
  
blink in comprehension. Amelia and Meggie were so tired that they missed the  
  
reaction, and Amelia went on to another language. But I jumped up out of my  
  
seat.  
  
"Parry-" Meggie started to say, but I ignored her.  
  
"Go back, Amelia! That last word you said-" Amelia uttered a word. "No, no!"  
  
I shouted, "The one before that!"  
  
Amelia said the word again, and our injured woman did more than just  
  
blink. Pointing at the bedpan (and looking rather horrified), she repeated  
  
the word.  
  
"See, see Mellie! She understood!"  
  
  
  
"Obviously," Mellie said, as she handed the bed pan to the agitated   
  
young woman. "and she doesn't look happy about it either."  
  
By this point, Meggie was on the other side of the bed. She had taken  
  
the young woman's hand and was saying something conforting in Spanish.  
  
While the young woman didn't know the language, the tone and concern seemed  
  
to calm her down. But, I admit, I wasn't paying that much attention to her at  
  
the time. My attention was focused on Amelia.  
  
"What language was that?"  
  
"It was Japanese."  
  
"So, we know she speaks Japanese. So, what do we do now? Go find   
  
a translator?"  
  
"Not quite yet," Amelia said. "I actually know a little Japanese.  
  
Let's see if we can find out some more about her first."  
  
I stared at my friend, "You know Japanese?"  
  
"Of course, I know some Japanese. Remember the fact that I love  
  
anime? Remember how much anime-based fan fiction I read in a given  
  
month?" Amelia stuck her tongue out at me. "I picked up some  
  
Japanese through all of that. I told you my hobby was useful."  
  
"Okay, cosplay geek. Have at it."  
  
Amelia threw me a dirty look. "I am so sorry I ever told you that  
  
Anime North story," she said as she turned to a slightly calmer  
  
injuried woman. After lightly poking her to get her attention, Amelia  
  
say what must have been hello. Then she began the strangest attempt at   
  
communicating that I had seen. Looking the women straight in the eye, she  
  
said, "Allen Amelia," pointing to herself. "Sims Megan," she continued,   
  
pointing to Meggie. "Austin-Franklin Parria." she ended, pointing at me.   
  
Then she pointed at the girl and looked questioningly at her. The girl   
  
remained silent.  
  
"Okay, let's try this again," Amelia muttered in English. Taking a  
  
deep breath, she said, "Mellie-chan," pointing herself. "Meggie-chan,"  
  
she said, point to Meggie. "Parry-baka," she said, pointing to me.  
  
"Hey!" I objected, not really knowing why, but being pretty sure I was   
  
just insulted.  
  
Ignoring me, Amelia then pointed to the girl. Then, she said, the word for  
  
bathroom, pointing to the bowl, her name pointing to herself, and pointed   
  
to the girl.  
  
After a few moments, the girl answered. At the time I didn't know  
  
any languages other than English, so I wasn't sure what she said...but  
  
it sounded more like a sentence than a name.  
  
"What did she say?" Meggie asked  
  
"That didn't sound like a name, Mellie." I pointed out, almost hoping to be  
  
proved wrong.  
  
"It wasn't," she confirmed. "I think she said that she doesn't  
  
know."  
  
"You THINK? Oh, THAT'S helpful."  
  
"Well, she looks agitated enough for that to be right," Meggie  
  
said from her position. "Marde Dios, I think she may have   
  
anmesia!"  
  
"Well, that's just great!" I looked at the female in  
  
the hospital bed, who was growing increaingly more disturbed.  
  
"Amelia, do something! Say something to calm her down!"  
  
"I don't know what I can say! I mean, I know the words and  
  
phrases for love, bathroom, hello, goodbye, and lunch box.  
  
I can hint at the idea that we are friends. I can call her  
  
an idiot. I can say 'what', 'but', and 'wait'. And that's about it."  
  
"Mellie, you said you picked up Japanese from those stupid   
  
fan fics!"  
  
"I SAID that I knew some Japanese from the fan fics I read.  
  
Keep in mind that I'm reading mostly mediocre to crappy fan fics  
  
written by native English speakers, not an intro to Japanese   
  
textbook. I'm sorry if I can't ask complicated questions,  
  
oh madam foreign language instructor!"  
  
"I think now would be a good time to get a translator," Meggie  
  
interrupted.  
  
So, soon after the young lady was awake, we had learned three   
  
important things: she spoke Japanese and had some understanding  
  
of Italian; she didn't speak English; and, she didn't remember   
  
who she was. As the day at the hospital wore on, we also learned  
  
the fourth important thing: no one had reported her missing. As   
  
of that moment, she had nowhere to go. She also didn't really have  
  
a name. I started calling her Isobel, because of what she uttered  
  
after the car hit her. After a few tries, she realized that we   
  
were addressing her when we said it. So, for all intents and  
  
purposes, she was Isobel Ikeda to us. The last name of Ikeda  
  
was Amelia's idea, pulled from some anime character, no doubt. I never  
  
asked.  
  
I'm not sure why I suggested that she be released in my care. And  
  
I am really not sure why anyone agreed with this idea, although  
  
Amelia clearly expressed very loudly how crazy the idea was. But   
  
before I knew what happened, I had a roommate in my appartment who   
  
spoke no English and I spoke no Japanese.  
  
That six months that she spent with me were the most instructive  
  
of my life. She obviously knew her way around a kitchen and   
  
she was a virtual maid, a nice mesh for my love of eating and   
  
making messes. We also worked on learning the other's language.  
  
She was doing much better than I was, however. Four months after   
  
the accident, she was able to form complex sentences in English  
  
and even read some street signs. I, however, could barely   
  
say more than "Hello, my name is Parria. I am pleased to meet  
  
you," in Japanese. Meggie, trying to make me feel better, pointed  
  
out that Isobel was being emersed in the language. Mellie, being  
  
her contrary self, said that it proved that I actually was an  
  
idiot.  
  
There are times when I wish things ended that way. That she just  
  
got her memory back after those four months and then went home. I could  
  
imagine us still being friends. I could imagine the letter-writing that  
  
would happen, and the trip to Japan Mellie, Meggie and I would have  
  
taken to visit. I could imagine being blissfully ignorant.  
  
But my guest, my new friend was mentally running away from something...or  
  
something was mentally chasing her, I wasn't really sure of the best  
  
way to explain what was happening in her head. Regardless, it caught   
  
up with her while she was under my roof. And because of that I received  
  
too much information to stay silent, and that ultimately sealed my fate.  
  
- to be continued -  
  
I know this doesn't seem much like an Sailor Moon story at the   
  
moment, but it will. It's a rather strange idea that I've been  
  
tossing around in my head since I heard Dido's song "Isobel".  
  
Also, I am in desperate need of both an editor and beta. If you  
  
are interested, email me (cemberl@yahoo.com) and let me know.   
  
(If you would like to edit,please send a writing sample or and   
  
example of something you edited. For anyone who would like to   
  
beta, you would need knowledge of SailorMoon through the Stars   
  
season.)  
  
As always, thanks for reading.  
  
~December 


	2. Chapter One: Hell Well Safe

Chapter One: Hell Well Safe  
  
It all started with a sentence. One little sentence that I just  
  
didn't ignore.  
  
"I have been having strange dreams," she said.  
  
We were sitting down to dinner. Isobel had cooked some amazing  
  
creation that she had conceived of completely on her own, combining  
  
collard greens, pasta, and (of all things) miso in ways I wouldn't  
  
have ever dared. Some five-star resteraunt somewhere is crying  
  
for not having snapped her up. As was now usually with us, Isobel  
  
sat at one end of the table, with a pad of paper, making notes. I  
  
sat at another with an open book. As it was a Thursday, it was   
  
an Intro to Japanese book, and I was trying to actually master Isobel's  
  
first language.  
  
"Nani?" I replied, in my awful accent.  
  
Isobel sighed. Putting down her pen, she looked at me and said,  
  
"I am serious, Parry-chan. Please, let us talk in English. I am...  
  
troubled by this, and I want to be able to understand-"  
  
"Okay, okay," I agreed reluctantly. I closed the book in front of me.  
  
"What kind of strange dreams?"  
  
Isobel blinked a few times. Then she answered slowly, saying, "I am  
  
not sure how to describe them. I do not remember much, but I feel  
  
I am supposed to be somewhere else, doing something important. Protecting  
  
someone important? I-" She stopped suddenly to put a hand to her right  
  
temple.  
  
"Isobel, if this is too difficult for you, we can-"  
  
"No, no," she insisted as she waved my concern away, "I am fine. I think  
  
I would be worse off if I did not discuss it." She sighed.  
  
I nodded. Obviously, whatever the vague dream was, it was weighing  
  
heavily on Isobel's mind. "What do you remember from the dreams that   
  
troubled you?"  
  
Isobel was quiet for a moment, looking off in space. Then, in a   
  
reflective voice, she said, "It was not so much...images?...but  
  
feelings. Feelsing of joy and pain-"  
  
"Sunshine and rain!" a voice sang out from the appartment doorway.  
  
Startled, Isobel and I both jumped up. I turned to look at the   
  
door, while Isobel positioned herself in front of me as if to  
  
protect me from something. She took such a pose without thinking;  
  
it wasn't the first time it had happened. Looking back, I realize  
  
that if I had been paying more attention to her, I would have noticed  
  
that much sooner than I did. But hind-sight is always twenty-twenty.  
  
Regardless of what I didn't notice then, both Isobel and I noticed  
  
Amelia in my doorway. As we both calmed down, Amelia breezed into the  
  
room. "Are we playing 'Finish the lyrics of that 80s song'?"  
  
"I am so sorry I ever gave you a key to this place." I muttered as I  
  
sat down again.  
  
"No, you're not. Before Isobel, I would be the one you brought you  
  
food and occasionally cooked for your butt," Amelia pulled up a chair from  
  
the living room and sat down at the table. "So, what's up?"  
  
By this point Isobel had also taken her seat again, but she looked confused.  
  
"Sunshine and rain?" she asked quietly.  
  
"Words from a great song. I'll have to play it for you someday." Amelia  
  
answered.  
  
"Well, that's nice and all, Mellie," I interrupted, "But Isobel and I were  
  
actually in the middle of an important conversation."  
  
Amelia snorted at this. "About what? Bel-chan's lasted culinary   
  
creation?" she asked as she picked up my spoon and tried to grab  
  
food off of Isobel's plate.  
  
"Amelia! You weren't invited to dinner!" I objected.  
  
"Oh come on, Parria! I'm hungry and that looks good. Are those  
  
collards?" Amelia asked as she peered longingly at the at Isobel's  
  
plate.  
  
Isobel laughed, but only after blinking a few times, as if she found  
  
something familar. Whatever she was thinking, she ignored it as  
  
she rose and said, "I will get you a plate, Mellie-chan," as she  
  
went to the kitchen.  
  
"Okay, so what were you talking about when I came in?" Amelia asked  
  
after Isobel left the room.  
  
"Amelia-"  
  
"Hey, you weren't the only one who found her laying in traffic! Meggie  
  
and I worry about her, too."  
  
That, at least, was true. Although Isobel lived with me, Meggie and Amelia  
  
were just as much a part of her life as I was. Without ever really talking  
  
about it, we went from a trio to a quartet with little to no effort...except  
  
for the language thing at first. I know both Amelia and Megan would be  
  
just as concerned about Isobel's discomfort as I was.  
  
"Isobel has been having strange dreams. They were bothering her."  
  
"Strange dreams?" Amelia asked as Isobel returned to the room and  
  
set a plate in front of her. Amelia turned to look at the brown-haired  
  
young woman, "Have you had them for long?"  
  
"Iie. No," Isobel answered. "They were just so...foreign." She looked  
  
at the two of us. "I do not mean to cause worry for anyone-"  
  
"It's okay, Isobel. Given the accident and everything, it is understandable  
  
that something like this would happen," I attempted to say soothingly.  
  
"Hey, maybe it is part of your memory trying to return!" Amelia said.  
  
At this, Isobel sobered a little more. "If it is," she managed to say  
  
slowly, "I am not sure I want my memories back. The joy was an amazing   
  
feeling, but the pain - it felt like I was dying. I am not sure that I  
  
would want to remember a life with that kind of pain."  
  
Her observation really didn't come as a surprise. Although we never   
  
told Isobel, Amelia, Megan and I all concluded that she was running from  
  
something; why else could she remember everything except the presonal  
  
memories that would have made up her life? For that reason, we were   
  
determined to make her time with us happy and not to push her to remember  
  
anything. That statement confirmed for us that we were on the right track.  
  
"You're with us now, Bel-chan," Amelia said quietly. "You don't have to  
  
remember the pain, much less return to it if you'd rather not."  
  
Isobel smiled at that, but we should have known that it wouldn't be that easy.  
  
Whatever it was that caused that first dream, it wouldn't go away.  
  
As the week went on, I began more and more worried about Isobel. Each  
  
day I saw the deepening bags under her eyes, proof that she wasn't   
  
sleeping. By Saturday morning, I had had it, so I proposed a ladies  
  
night. In essense, what this consisted of was Meggie, Mellie, double-chocolate  
  
cheesecake and all the makings needed for make-overs. I proposed   
  
this for two reasons. The first was to chear up Isobel with a little fun.  
  
The second was to have Megan and Amelia stay up with me so that we could  
  
talk about what was troubling Isobel.  
  
On some level, it was amazing that I had this all in place for that   
  
Saturday night. Because it was that Saturday night when she had her  
  
first clear dream.  
  
Isobel had gone to bed at 11:30 that night. It was a little after 1am  
  
and Megan, Amelia and I were still up talking about what we could do for  
  
Isobel. Actually, Amelia and I were in the middle of a quiet argument  
  
about whether we should begin to press Isobel to remember when we heard shouts  
  
from Isobel's room.  
  
Jumping up, the three of us ran to her door and wretched it open just in  
  
time to hear her shout, "Iie! Usagi!" as she shot up straight in bed.  
  
"Usagi?" Amelia asked quietly, while Megan went into the room and  
  
sat down on Isobel's bed.  
  
"Isobel? Isobel, it's okay. We are here now," Meggie said.  
  
"But, Usagi! They will hurt her if I am not there. Iie! Usagi!"  
  
Isobel said in a strong, but different voice, as if she were still  
  
stuck in the dream.  
  
"Snap out of it! Wake up, Isobel! We are right here. No one is  
  
getting hurt." I shouted.  
  
My shout finally shook her out of the dream state. After looking  
  
at us in the room, she burst into tears.  
  
Meggie immediately gathered Isobel in a hug and started singing  
  
something in Spanish. As Meggie comforted Isobel, I turned my  
  
attention to Amelia...mainly because she said, "Usagi. Now that's  
  
a werid thing to say."  
  
"What do you mean?" I asked my friend.  
  
"Usagi means 'rabbit' or 'bunny' in Japanese," Amelia shrugged.  
  
"It's just a strange thing to say. Unless she was dreaming about   
  
killer rabbits. Or the Trojan Bunny." She shot me a look, "I told  
  
you showing her Monty Python's The Holy Grail was a bad idea."  
  
I stuck my tongue out at my friend. But, after thinking about   
  
what Isobel said while she was still half asleep, I replied, "But  
  
that doesn't make sense in the context. I mean, she did say, 'They  
  
will hurt her if I am not there.' Could Usagi be someone's name?"  
  
Amelia shrugged. "I guess. I mean, Americans have named their  
  
kids 'Bunny' before. Why can't the Japanese? But that is one   
  
odd name to give your child, no matter what national origin you are."  
  
With that statement, we turned back to the bed to watch Meggie calm  
  
Isobel down. As I listened to Meggie's singing, the song sounded  
  
really familar. So familar that I had to interrupt.   
  
"Wait," I said. As Isobel and Meggie turned to look at me, I said,  
  
"Le noche? Tu sweat tay?"  
  
"Your Spanish is horrid," Mellie said.  
  
"Are you singing her the Spanish version of Gloria Estefan's  
  
'Wrapped'?" I asked incrediously.  
  
"Well, it's your fault," Meggie confirmed. "You were the one who  
  
lent me the CD. Besides," she shrugged, "I wanted to send the  
  
message that Isobel was safe now."  
  
"And there wasn't a Spanish lullaby that could have accomplished  
  
that task?"  
  
"None that I know," Meggie replied. Noticing the annoyed look  
  
on my face, she said, "Would you rather I prayed to a saint?"  
  
"Is there a saint that can help with bad dreams?" I asked.  
  
Meggie snorted. "Of course! There is a saint for everything.  
  
Take Saint Anne, for example-"  
  
"Well, this is getting us nowhere," Amelia said as she can in the   
  
room and sat in the chair next to the left side of the bed. She  
  
turned to Isobel, "Do you want to talk about it? The dream, I mean?"  
  
"Iie. Hai. I...do not know. Please?" At that moment, she looked  
  
so lost, my heart wretched. I went to sit down on the other side of the bed.  
  
"Tell us about it," I said as I put a comforting hand on her hands.  
  
Nodding, Isobel started slowly. "I do not remember the  
  
whole dream, but I clearly remember walking. I was wearing  
  
some kind of brown uniform and I...nervous?...about something. As  
  
I round the corner, I saw a young girl with blonde hair in a  
  
strange style, cornered by three big guys. I knew she was in  
  
trouble, and I tried to move to help her out, but something  
  
held me in place. I tried calling out to her to run, but I  
  
could not make sound come out of my throat. As I watched the  
  
biggest guy get closer to her, I knew she was going to be  
  
hurt, all because I was not there to protect her." Isobel  
  
shook her head slowly. "But I do not remember who she was  
  
or why I felt this need to protect her, why I felt like I should...  
  
had to protect her. I-"  
  
"It's going to be okay, Isobel," I reassured her, squeezing her  
  
hand. "It was just a dream. And it probably had more to do with  
  
that tape of a mugging that they showed on the news this evening.  
  
You'll be fine."  
  
Unfortunately, she wasn't fine. The weeks began to pass in a   
  
pattern. Every weekday evening, Isobel had vague dreams of   
  
needing to protect something or someone. And, every Saturday night,  
  
she had clear, tramatic dreams about being needed to fight.  
  
A week from that first Saturday night, she had a dream about wearing  
  
this almost scandalous sailor suit and with three other people,  
  
trying to reach someone at the top of a tower. "They can't get to  
  
her without me. I am the one that opened the door!" she insisted.  
  
I excused it by saying that she was focused on the play about Rapuzel  
  
that we had seen the night before.  
  
The next Saturday she had a dream about a cold, white place and dying  
  
a painful but noble death. While that dream bothered her the least, it  
  
bothered me the most. I made her promise not to do anything rash after that.  
  
The next Saturday she was practically incoherent with tears, shouting for   
  
a "Serenity" and asking forgiveness for having "failed to protect the  
  
kingdom." She refused to explain that dream, but it seemed to haunt   
  
her. "It was so peaceful," she would say randomly for days after that  
  
dream, but she didn't seem to know what the "it" was.  
  
Finally, over a month later, after Isobel screamed in the middle of yet  
  
another Saturday night, I ran into her room, as usual. "Isobel. Are  
  
you okay? What is it?"  
  
But this time she answered me differently. This time, she shook her  
  
head and said, "Makoto."  
  
"Excuse me?" I asked.  
  
"Makoto. That is my name, Makoto Kino. My name is Makoto. I live in  
  
Tokyo, and I remember everything. Parria, I have to go home."  
  
That pronouncement stunned me, to say the least, as did her very earnest  
  
look. I promptly called Meggie and Amelia over so that we could talk to Isobel  
  
about her regained memory and the dream that woke her up. It was that   
  
conversation that brought me to the choice I made. The choice that, right or  
  
wrong, brought me to this point. The point where I stand in an alley, facing  
  
the very real prospect of a nasty death.  
  
- to be continued -  
  
Well, here it is. Chapter One of Isobel. I really think that the story  
  
is only going to get darker after this, as there won't be as much Mellie   
  
and Meggie in the coming chapters. I admit this is an odd little fic.   
  
I'm not quite sure what to make of it, but your feedback is appreciated.  
  
By the way, HobbestheCat, you'll probably be hearing from me via email  
  
soon. While I'm still trying to plug my way through the story, I also   
  
want to refine it. Thanks for your offer of help.  
  
As always, thanks for reading. Please read and review or drop me an  
  
email (cemberlyahoo.com)  
  
December 


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